


Prelude to Mordor

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 07:26:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3720229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam offers himself to comfort Frodo prior to entering Mordor.</p><p>Angst, Adult Themes</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prelude to Mordor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

**Author's note:**  
This vignette takes place just prior to Frodo and Sam entering Mordor. It explores what might have happened had the subject of an intimate relationship come up during a long, cold night together out in the wild.

*******

Samwise Gamgee had never gotten used to sleeping without his cozy, hobbit-sized featherbed and warm, down comforter. After months on the road, within the fragrant luxuries of Rivendell, and now huddled under a ledge on the very edge of Mordor—it didn’t matter—he had never once slept through the night. Shifting on the rocky ground, he looked up through narrow eye slits at the stars visible in the black sky. His tired mind stared at them as his body, quite against his will, continued to awaken. He closed his eyes tightly, listening to the sound of Frodo’s breathing; it was quiet, rhythmic, and familiar, a calming balm for his pain.

After an exhausting day’s trek, Gollum had led them to this narrow, stone outcropping by the mountains. It offered welcome protection against the deadly Nazgul who frequented the skies near Mordor. Huddled underneath, the two halflings lay close together—for warmth and security, and a simple hobbit need for each other. Frodo slept with his back to Sam, curled up and private against the rough stone of the mountainside. Sam lay facing outwards, where he could keep watch, just in case. Barely underneath the ledge, he felt the cheerless, pre-dawn breeze on his face; still, Sam lay quiet, careful not to disturb his master’s precious sleep. It was a state becoming more and more foreign to him.

At every hour of the night he would find Frodo awake, sitting on the ground with his head in his hands or leaning against a tree looking up at the stars. More often now, Sam would catch him holding the Ring in his hands—looking at it, caressing it lovingly, even kissing it sometimes. How Sam hated that tiny piece of gold, hated it, hated it, hated it. How he longed for Gimli’s powerful ax to land blow upon blow atop the evil thing until it shattered into a thousand pieces under his personal loathing and determination.

Samwise took a deep breath and opened his eyes, defeated. He was fully awake now and that would be it for the rest of the night. He crawled out of the shelter and stretched, inhaling the crisp air. Then he bent low under the ledge, laying his elvish cloak gingerly on top of his master, transferring some of his warmth to Frodo.

It was colder out in the open but he rubbed his upper arms, not minding very much. His gardener’s sensitive eyes gazed around the rocky landscape. In the bleak starlight, it only added to his depression, with not a tree or any growing thing for miles. Gollum, who was supposed to be keeping watch, was nowhere to be seen. Typical, he thought angrily. The slimy creature couldn’t be trusted as far as you could throw an oliphaunt. He frowned and moved away, stumbling a bit in his half-asleep weariness. Finally, he found a flat rock and sat down but the hard stone hurt his backside, his once bulky frame being leaner and not so accommodating.

“Oh, help us,” Sam whispered to the unfeeling blackness, despair welling up in his heart. He was hungry and tired and he hurt all over. And he was scared. So scared that sometimes he wondered if he could stand it; scared of what awaited them in Mordor, scared of orcs, black riders, and menacing longshanks towering over him, scared of the formless and evil Dark Lord himself--who would destroy them all if he found them with the Ring. It was a lot to be afraid of. But more than anything Sam feared Gollum, the two-faced little devil who had captivated his master. A devil he could do nothing about. He had tried but his master wouldn’t listen and now anything he said just caused trouble. So he kept his mouth shut.

Sam shifted on the hard rock surface, trying to find a more comfortable position. It was just as well. Mr. Frodo had enough to worry about just dealing with that accursed slice of gold that hammered away at his sanity every bloody waking hour. Besides, Sam was there to help, _not to cause no trouble_ , as his Gaffer would say. Samwise smiled at the thought of his father and sighed again. What would he be doing now, back in The Shire? Maybe plowing ridges for spring planting on Mr. Bilbo’s vast landholdings. But he’d be working alone now, without his Sam alongside to help. And that was too much for his hobbit heart to bear. Samwise buried his head in his hands and tears started to flow, unbidden, unwanted but he let them out anyway. It didn’t matter; he was alone, in the middle of…

Suddenly a low, desperate cry shattered his personal outburst of grief. Sam raised his head and turned toward the noise. It was close by. Without thinking he was on his feet, wiping the tears from his eyes. He looked around, fists clenched, but all was silent again. Thinking first of his master, he stumbled in the darkness back toward the narrow outcropping, cursing himself for wandering off. Then he heard the sound again, lower but closer. He started to run.

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam whispered as he reached the shelter, breathless from fear.

His master, hidden under two elfish cloaks, didn’t stir. Sam moved quickly to his side, then he heard the sound again, even closer and quieter. This time he recognized it.

“Noooo, please, noooo.”

Frodo’s slight frame shook violently as he turned over on his back, the two cloaks falling off to one side. His sleeping face was tight and his lips pulled back.

“No, I _have_ to.” The guttural words, more like a hiss, barely escaped Frodo’s lips. They trembled then, soundlessly.

Sam frowned. It was the nightmare again and he knew how it would end; still, he hesitated to wake his master. Even nightmare-sleep was sleep.

Frodo turned back on his side, his face quivering in torment. Suddenly, his hand reached up to his chest, closing into a fist against his shirt. Sam hesitated still. He stood there helpless, his expression full of sadness and pity.

“My preci…my…my…precioussss…mine…my own.”

The words were quiet and blurred together. A stranger might not have understood them but Sam did. He had heard them before, not only from his master but also from the gangly creature who dogged their every footstep. Gollum had called it that too. Precious.

Frodo was writhing on the ground now, both hands grasped tightly to his chest. The bright gold Ring had worked its way out and was dangling obscenely on its silver chain, sparkling in the starlight. His whole body was shaking as Frodo suddenly screamed in terror, a heartrending, pitiful sound that froze Sam’s blood.

With his own cry of alarm, he knelt down and grabbed his master’s shoulders. “Mr. Frodo, sir, please; it’s your Sam here. You need to wake up, Mr. Frodo.”

Sam’s eyes were wet again as he stared down at the hated Ring. His master had always been so strong and in control. Back in Hobbiton, most hobbits looked up to Frodo, respected his intelligence and book-learning. But for Sam, Mr. Frodo was the one who listened to him and spent time with him, even though he wasn’t very smart or knowledgeable about the world. It was Frodo who helped him plant the flower boxes at Bag End, who sometimes invited him in for tea, who gave him reading lessons out under the trees.

But it was different now.

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam shook his shoulders again.

Frodo’s eyelids fluttered open and even in the dim light Sam could see the deep, dazzling blue color, made all the more brilliant by his pale, translucent complexion. For some reason, Sam was awed by the beauty in his master’s face at that instant of non-recognition, that instant of peace before awakening.

“It’s OK, Mr. Frodo, you were dreamin’, that’s all; nothin’ to be worried about. I’m here.”

Frodo looked up as consciousness crept over him. The blue eyes got wider and deeper.

“I’m here,” Sam repeated, leaning in closer. “You need to wake up, Mr. Frodo.” Sam reached out, helping him into a sitting position but Frodo held on with a vice-like grip.

“It was so _real_ , Sam.” His voice was shaking. “So real. I was there, Sam, at the fire, at the mountain, Doom. Where….”

Sam squeezed his hand tightly. “It’s all right, Mr. Frodo, you don’t have to…”

“And I tried to throw it in, the Ring, Sam, I tried so hard…but I…I couldn’t do it. It spoke to me like it always does…but this time…it was so…clear and, and, and…so…beautiful.” He was hyperventilating, gasping for breath.

“Stop it, Mr. Frodo. Now, be quiet a minute.” Sam spoke harshly but his eyes showed their worry. He gently loosened his master’s grip and sat down next to Frodo, putting his arm around his shoulder. “It’s _all right_ , he whispered again. “It was only a dream, nothin’ more.”

Frodo was fully awake now and Sam could feel his shoulders sink down dejectedly. It was a long time before he said anything.

“What if I can’t _do_ it, Sam?”

Clouds had come in, blocking the starlight, and Sam couldn’t see Frodo’s face anymore but he could feel his master trembling under his arm. He tried to make his voice sound wise and knowledgeable. “Now Mr. Frodo, we all know that dreams are nothin’ to fret on.” He let go of Frodo and grabbed one of the cloaks. “Here now, you’re cold.” Sam arranged the cloak around Frodo’s shoulders and started to pull it together in front where the Ring still dangled freely.

“NO!! DON’T TOUCH IT! KEEP AWAY!”

Frodo pushed Sam with a strength that surprised him. He fell sprawling backwards, his arms spreading out in the dirt and his head hitting the stone wall so hard he saw stars. Sam grimaced at the pain. He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak for a minute so stunned he was by the violence in Frodo’s touch.

Finally, he answered in the only voice he had access to, a high, raspy one that didn’t sound like him at all. “I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo, I didn’t mean anythin’ by it.”

“It’s mine.” Frodo’s voice was no less menacing in its quiet expression. “My own.”

“I know, Mr. Frodo.”

Sam scrambled up, kneeling on one knee but he didn’t touch Frodo again. “I know,” he repeated softly in a tone that came out patronizing but that he hoped was also reassuring.

Frodo lowered his head in silence; he was hyperventilating again, grasping the cloak to his body, hiding the Ring. Sam stared at him with a sick fear growing in his heart. His master was declining each day under the Ring’s torturous influence and Sam was terrified that soon he might have to do the thinking for both of them. He bit his lip, forcing such thoughts deep inside, forcing his voice to sound normal. He had to get things back to normal.

“Can I get you somethin’, Mr. Frodo, some tea, maybe? You’ll be feelin’ better with some nice hot tea inside you.”

Frodo didn’t respond. In the dim light, Sam watched him put the Ring back inside his shirt and fasten the top buttons. Then he wrapped the cloak around himself again, holding it tightly with trembling hands. His body was swaying and his head bent, eyes fixed on the ground.

Sam waited, helpless, not knowing what to do. “Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo didn’t move but finally he answered in a voice that was almost inaudible; it was, nevertheless, _his_ voice. “Thank-you, Sam.”

Sam stepped away and stirred the banked coals, starting the fire up again. He poured some water into a pan and while it was heating, sprinkled the last of their tea into a small silk bag. He tied it at the top and dropped it into the boiling water. Without a proper kettle, it was not the best way to make tea but it was better than nothing. Sam rubbed his sore head and frowned openly, watching the tea get stronger, not wanting to go back to Frodo just yet.

He knew it was the Ring of course, he had figured that out a long time ago, but it still hurt to have Mr. Frodo abuse him. It hurt a lot. Sam stared at the flames and felt like crying all over again. He closed his eyes, wishing with all his heart that he was back in the Shire, dancing at Mr. Bilbo’s party, drinking ale at the _Dragon_ , or sitting with Mr. Frodo reciting poetry under the party tree. But when he opened his eyes, he was still surrounded by a cold black night, making tea, dead on the border of Mordor, on a suicide mission.

Suicide mission. He hadn’t quite thought of it in those terms before. In the terms of _no hope_ , that is. Suddenly it hit him like a revelation, as the truth sometimes can; simple and obvious, it was dancing there before him in the fire. Mr. Frodo _knew_ it was a suicide mission, he had known it for a long time now. That was why he had wanted to go to Mordor alone. For a minute Sam forgot his own pain. For a minute he forgot to breathe.

“I think it’s ready, Sam.”

He jumped, in spite of his master’s soft voice, and almost overturned the steaming tea. In the new, pale dawn, Sam could just see Frodo standing in front of him with two metal cups drawn from their camp bag. He was no longer wearing the cloak but only his shirt, breeches, and velvet vest, all quite worn and torn in places. He had nothing else to his name.

“Oh, of course it is. I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo.” Sam leaped up quickly and reached for the cups. “Here now, you just sit yourself down and I’ll pour you some nice, hot tea, as best as we can have out here in the wild.”

Frodo instead knelt down by the fire. He wrapped a cloth around the pot handle and filled the cups to the brim. Then he stood and handed one to Sam with a weak smile. “What we don’t need out here in this despicable country is an aristocrat. I can at least pour tea for us.”

Sam took the tea and smiled back as best he could. He wrapped his hands around the cup and held it for a minute. It felt good if only as a source of warmth and comfort. Dawn was breaking fast now and he looked around quickly for any sign of Gollum but the desolation was absolute. The tea, however, smelled wonderful and he took a long, welcome drink. When he turned back, Frodo was sitting on the ground looking up at him.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

He spoke quickly. “Oh, I know, Mr. Frodo. You weren’t yourself, that’s all. It’s all right. You don’t have to explain anythin’ to me.”

Frodo let out a long, lingering sigh. “No, it isn’t all right.”

Sam sat down close to Frodo, partly to show him that he wasn’t angry. “I know what it is, Mr. Frodo. I understand about the Ring. I do.”

Frodo shivered and took a sip of tea. He stared straight ahead at the brightening eastern sky, his eyes unfocused. “It’s so heavy, Sam.”

Sam didn’t understand what he meant but he let it go, enjoying the peace of the moment and wishing the dawn would just stop for a minute. His musings were interrupted by Frodo’s involuntary wincing as he reached toward the back of his neck. When he drew back his hand, it was covered with blood.

“Frodo! What is it?!” Sam took his master’s hand and wiped the blood away using the cloth that had wrapped the pothandle. “Please, Mr. Frodo, let me see.”

Frodo nodded and Sam reached under his shirt at the back of his neck, pulling gently at the silver chain. It was covered with fresh and crusted blood and Sam could see scabs where the chain had long imbedded itself in Frodo’s skin. Shaking his head in disgust, Sam dipped the cloth into the warm tea remaining in the pot and cleaned the wounds, pulling the chain slowly out from under the remaining scabs. Frodo winced a few times, bending his head over further and further but he said nothing.

“There now, it’s clean and won’t get infected.” Sam wrapped the damp cloth around the chain to cushion it and then he laid it gently back against Frodo’s damaged skin. The weight of the Ring was astonishing. He almost needed two hands to lift it.

Sam swallowed hard but he kept his voice light. “Is that better, Mr. Frodo?”

His master sighed. “Yes, it is, thank-you.”

Frodo laid his head wearily on Sam’s powerful shoulder and soon his full weight was leaning against his gardener’s solid, muscular frame. Sam put his arm reassuringly around his friend and master, wishing he could transfer some of his own physical strength to help him fight. An easy silence stretched out between them and Sam thought that perhaps Frodo had fallen asleep again. But he was wrong.

“Don’t worry, Sam, I can do it.” Frodo whispered, his voice full of pain. “I have to do it. You couldn’t know but…oh, Sam, I _have_ to do it…for the Shire.”

His master’s desperation made Sam shiver but he answered with as much bravado as he could muster. “Of course you can do it, Mr. Frodo. You’re the smartest and best and bravest hobbit I ever knew. Braver than Strider and all the tall folks, or elves, or dwarves, or anyone! I don’t see any of them out here, lost in this accursed land with that _thing_ around their neck, now do I?”

Frodo closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, they were moist with tears.

Sam spoke faster. “And if you say it can be done, well, then it _can_ , Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo smiled. “Thank-you, Sam.”

But Sam had more to say. Something had been long on his mind and he knew he must speak now in case there was no more chance this side of breathing. Still, he hesitated. This was difficult.

“It’s just that, that…I heard what the Lady Galadriel said to you that night in Lorien, when you looked so sad.”

“What?”

“I followed you to her garden. Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but not for nothin’ was I goin’ to let you wander off by yourself in that strange place. If I was wrong, well, I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sam. What did you hear?”

Sam hesitated for a minute but his determination won out. “That a ringbearer is alone, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo’s eyes widened and he caught his breath, as if Sam had invaded some deep, secret place inside his very soul. He exhaled nosily but his voice was calm. “In many ways, that seems to be my fate, Sam, although I would not have wished it so. Perhaps it’s for the best…right now.”

“But you shouldn’t feel that way, Mr. Frodo.” Sam lifted his arm and laid his large, workworn hand on Frodo’s small one. If his master had looked, he would have seen tears in his eyes. “I wish I could help you more.” He hesitated. “I wish I could…”  
  
Frodo looked up at him suddenly, “Could what?”

“Ah…well…I wish I could give you more, I do, by way of…comfort, I mean, and I was thinkin’ that maybe it would help you fight that thing…I mean, if you didn’t feel so alone, Mr. Frodo...but I…I…” He took a deep breath. “Oh, Mr. Frodo, if you want, if it _would_ help…” Sam leaned over and awkwardly caressed Frodo’s soft curls, then he kissed his master tenderly on the cheek.

Frodo didn’t move and Sam felt gooseflesh rise all along his arms. He hesitated for a second but once again, his determination won out. He would finish what he had started. Sam placed his hand at the back of Frodo’s head and turned it until they were face to face. Then he kissed his master gently and squarely on his soft, full lips.

Frodo’s eyes grew larger and although he didn’t return the kiss, he didn’t pull away either. Instead he sat frozen, his breathing, deeper and faster.

“Mr. Frodo?” Sam whispered, closing his eyes for a second and dropping his hand from Frodo’s hair. He bit his lip with tension. Had he just made the biggest mistake of his life?

Frodo sat up on his own, staring at Sam with an expression that was both strange and complex. He rubbed his tongue over his lips in a slow, deliberate fashion and then he inhaled deeply, letting out his breath in ragged spurts.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo, I just didn’t know what to do. I only want to help, please believe me; I want to help so bad. I’d do anythin’ if it would make you feel better.” His eyes blazed. “Anythin’ you want.”

Frodo’s big blue eyes filled with tears as he tilted his head, staring at Sam with all the love in his heart. “Oh, Sam, I know you love Rosie.”

Sam leaned backwards at Frodo’s directness but nevertheless he sighed with relief. “I do, Mr. Frodo, and that’s the fact.”

“And I know, when this is over, that you will go…home to her and have many beautiful children together.”

Sam blushed.

“And you will tell them all those stories we talked about, remember?”

“Aye, that I would, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo’s voice became quieter and somehow changed. “You have given me so much, Sam, you have risked your very life to help me, you risk it every day we’re in this accursed land. I couldn’t ask any more of you and I would never ask...I don’t even know if I…well, I don’t know what I might need in that regard but you mustn’t ever worry that _you_ have to…provide it. Or that I would ever want you to...do something outside your own heart.”

Sam blushed again, deeper this time, crimson to the tips of his pointed ears.

There was a brief silence before Frodo spoke again. “Comfort, of any kind, is beyond my expectations now, Sam, and doubtless more than I deserve, considering…what I have done to you.”

“No, Mr. Frodo.”

Frodo stared him straight in the eyes. “Or what I may _still_ do to you.” He took a deep breath and looked away, his voice becoming even softer. “Sam, Galadriel was right in what she said. I am alone. And I will try to do what I promised…but I do not think there is much left for me.” He turned back to Sam. “And I am sorry for that. I truly am, my dear Sam. Perhaps in another time and place…” Frodo sighed and reached out, touching Sam’s cheek with the back of his fingers. “But it is no matter anymore. Only one thing matters…anymore.”

Samwise Gamgee was a simple hobbit who considered things in simple terms so he didn’t understand the complexities in Frodo’s philosophy. He only understood how he felt and that he had to say the words now, before they ventured into that dark land beyond all understanding.

So he took a deep breath. “Remember at Osgiliath, when I said there was good in this world worth fightin’ for? Well, I was thinkin’ of you, Mr. Frodo. I was thinkin’ of all the good inside you and how it was all still there and that the Ring just couldn’t ever destroy that, not ever. I was thinkin’ that together we had to fight for it, Mr. Frodo.” Sam took a deep breath, pursing his lips with determination. “And you are _not_ alone and will never be as long as these lungs are takin’ in air.”

Frodo looked away again. “Sam...”

“I love you, Mr. Frodo, with all my heart.”

His master turned back to him with a smile that was full and genuine, something truly beautiful that Sam had not seen since Rivendell. He wrapped his arm around Sam and squeezed him affectionately. “I know that, Sam. How could I not? It is what sustains me, my dearest friend, and my own love is no less there for you. This is all we need now, at this moment in time.”

Frodo Baggins stood then and yawned, extending his arms in front towards the dawn, then moving them around to his sides in a graceful stretch. Today they would enter Mordor and he would do his best to carry The One Ring into the Cracks of Doom. There was no other path for him. But Frodo felt good in his heart and stronger than he had in weeks. The sweet seduction that tormented his days was blessedly silent and the heaviness also seemed less for a moment. Perhaps, in some respect, a hidden tension had been released, a strain he had not articulated to himself in words or even in his deepest feelings. Frodo took a deep breath and grasped Sam’s hand, pulling him up on his feet.

He clasped his other hand over Sam’s large one, his eyes bright and his voice strong--the old Frodo who had laughed and drank with Sam at the _Green Dragon_. “And I promise you, Sam, _whatever it takes_ , I will send you back to Rosie…and to The Shire.”

Sam’s gloom lifted then and he began to believe that they could destroy the wretched Ring in the fires of Mt. Doom, just as Lord Elrond had ordered. If _that_ was possible, then maybe everything else would be fine too and he would see his darling Rosie again, along with his kin and his beloved homeland.

In his new-found joy, however, Samwise Gamgee failed to consider the careful wording of his master’s last statement and so it turned out that he was smiling as he looked into the broadening daylight and saw Gollum nimbly jumping towards them, across the rocky hills.


End file.
